


Blue Eyed Boy

by Kitkatmadina



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blue Eyes, Green Eyes, M/M, Prose Poem, Reality, Time - Freeform, dream - Freeform, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:08:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkatmadina/pseuds/Kitkatmadina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little poetic prose based on a dream I had, with a tiny Larry twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Eyed Boy

It was a weird feeling – as though time was racing before his eyes, showing him every step to his future. The outcome looked morose, as he peered out his window to watch his life play out. He saw the return of a cousin who had once been forgotten, whose stride carried him confidently to their doorstep, to be welcomed back with open arms. He saw as the family gathered in the front yard, with faces of a dire nature. Brothers by familiarity wore somber expressions; family by solely blood emerged. And he watched their faces change and age, he watched the leaves fall and fade – all behind the window pane.

By dark, the feelings had withered away. He peered outside the window once more. This time, Christmas lights shimmered and shined, signaling hope? Signaling the defeat of the night? He opened up the glass. In the darkness, there was a figure. The streetlights gave the scene an orange hue, and he looked to see the figure run between the shades.

He called out, but was his voice strong enough? And the figure stopped, turned, and looked his way. He called out once more, when the figure stepped into the light, and all he could make out was a boy and pair of bright, blue eyes. “Who are you?” he asked, though the words didn’t seem to carry. The boy only smiled.

“Who are you?” he repeated. But again, the boy did not say a word. He began to climb the side of the house.

“What are you doing?” But the boy reached the light, and he hung upon the window sill, his fingers curled tight.

Neither said a word then, as blue eyes met green. And he had this feeling in his stomach. Would he give in? He couldn’t tell where his thoughts were going; what was going on? It was a weird thing to feel that dreams weren’t dreams, but instead, something real. Was this happening?

Time seemed to stop.

He chose, then, to not choose reason.

So he leaned in.

And woke up.


End file.
